Taken by Fire (7 page)

“Then why …?” She glanced pointedly at the enormous erection behind the fly of his pants.

“Side effect,” he snapped. “Side effect of using my power. Or of anyone using a nature-based special ability.”

Realization dawned, and suddenly things made sense. “That was why, in my apartment—”

“Yeah. You’d used your power, and I felt it.”

Well, it was a relief to know that he wasn’t some sort of sicko who got a sexual thrill from causing pain and death, but the fact was, he still wanted to kill Phoebe, which meant Mel would die too. Right now, he seemed to be walking a thin line between duty and revenge, and the best way to keep him on the side of duty would be to keep Phoebe as far from him as possible.

“We have to leave. We need to go to my apartment and get the drug—”

“We can’t.” He lifted the curtain with one finger and peeked outside. “Not until help comes to neutralize the guys who are after Phoebe.”

“I can fight. I’m not useless.”

“Right now you are.”

His words struck at the heart of her, echoing those of her father and sister.
You’re useless. Pathetic. No good to anyone
.

Resolve put steel in her spine, and she stripped out of her shirt and jeans, leaving her in only her underwear and a bra. She just wished her hands weren’t shaking. “That can be fixed.”

Stryker spun around, his eyes going wide. “Hell, no.”

You’re useless. Pathetic
. “You afraid I’m going to hurt you once I get my powers back?” She stalked toward him, and though he stood his ground, his fists clenched at his sides. “Don’t be. I need your help. You’re my one shot at getting out of this hellish life.”

The building shook again, just a tremor, and he groaned. “Put. On. Your. Clothes.”

The command in his voice made her want to jump to obey. But the very obvious erection behind his fly told her she had a shot at this, maybe her only one, and she wasn’t going to blow it.

“No. This is our best chance of getting to my place alive, and you know it.” It occurred to her that he might be worried about unprotected sex, and she felt her face heat, which was weird, given that she was practically naked and propositioning him, but the thought of discussing protection made her uncomfortable. “I … ah … Phoebe, we take a shot to prevent pregnancy and disease—”

“Do you really think it matters?”

She blinked, and then what he’d said sunk in. Anger bubbled to the surface, obliterating any remaining nervousness. “Right. Who cares if you get me pregnant, since I’ll be dead soon anyway. So let’s get on with it.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw, but other than that, he gave no reaction at all.

“Fine.” He came at her, backing her against the wall. “You want it? We’ll play.” He ripped open his pants, and she nearly salivated at the sight of his cock as it sprang free, a thick, dusky column of hard flesh. Next, he tore her underwear and drove his fingers between her legs.

His handling was rough, but it wasn’t painful, though she knew he could make it so if he wanted. The fact that he didn’t, that he was actually taking the time to touch her, to concentrate the motion of his fingers right over her clit, told her he cared about her pleasure. Which was good, since Phoebe had said that the recharge had something to do with the chemical reaction that occurred when both she and her male partner climaxed.

Her hands were idle, she realized, and she reached for him, but he suddenly spun her around so her face was against the wall. He tugged her hips out, kicked her feet apart, and in one hard, powerful thrust, he entered her.

“Sorry,” he said against her ear, “but I can’t look into the face of the woman who killed my friend when I come.”

For some reason, that stung. She got it, but she was so tired of being seen as Phoebe, and as long as Stryker saw only Phoebe when he looked at her, Mel would be in danger.

He pulled back and pushed inside again, and if she had ever thought she’d hate this, she’d been so wrong. Didn’t matter that it was all so angry, as impersonal as if they were both masturbating.
She
had initiated it.
She
had gotten Stryker hard.

The rush of power brought with it a rush of wetness between her legs, and she moaned. The sound seemed to trigger something in Stryker, and he increased the tempo of his thrusts, began to pound into her with raw, brutal force. The erotic sound of skin slapping skin filled the room, and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out with pleasure.

“How’s this?” he gritted into her ear. “You like it rough? I hope so, because I can’t give you anything else.”

“I … no, this is … fine.” More than fine. Sensation streamed through like lit gasoline in her veins. But still, she was
plastered against a cold, hard wall, and though this wasn’t an act of love, she felt a basic need for some kind of … what? Comfort? Connection? Wrenching her arm around behind her, she palmed his flank, loved the bunching muscles under her hand as he pumped his hips. “The bed … maybe we can move to the bed?”

“The bed is for women I like.” He snagged her wrist and pinned it above her head against the wall so she couldn’t touch him as he hammered into her. She cried out in a combination of pleasure and loss of control, but he must have taken the sound as pain, because his grip loosened, and the wild pounding of his cock inside her slowed. “Fuck.”

The normally harsh word was soft, full of what she could have sworn was regret, and she was even more sure of it when he braced his forehead on the back of her head and let out a long, shuddering breath that whispered over her neck. Her skin prickled, and against her will she arched, taking him even deeper.

His thrusts gentled, and amazingly, the slower slide of his shaft over her sensitive tissues became even more intense. In no time, she was on the edge of detonation, her body quivering, her core clenching him greedily.

Mel didn’t have a lot of—heck, she didn’t have any—experience with this, but her body did, and it registered the sensation of skin on skin, as well as the rasp of Stryker’s pants on her bare flesh. The combination of rough and smooth in addition to the slide of his hard shaft inside her slick softness made for a perfect storm of pleasure, and she couldn’t contain the plea that escaped her.

“Please …”

“That,” he said, “is only the first of the begging I’ll get from you.”

Though he meant it in the not-so-fun way, it didn’t matter. The gruff, gravelly tone of his voice, the way his fingers dug into her hips, the slap of his balls against the fleshy lips of her sex … it set her off like nothing ever had.

Ecstasy shot through her core, spread to every nerve ending until even her skin popped with pleasure, and she let out a wail that was probably heard on the street below. The orgasm rippled, crested, and waned, and then, as Stryker barked out a pleasured sound of his own, his cock swelled, releasing a warm jet that triggered another intense climax.

Her pussy milked him, taking everything and squeezing until he began to jerk and grip her hips to still her as the sensations became too intense. Deep inside her, his cock twitched, and she shuddered, almost wishing he’d keep pumping … not because she wanted another orgasm, but because she didn’t want to lose this connection.

Silly? Yes. But she’d never experienced the melding of a man and a woman, and given the way her life had gone, she doubted she’d feel it again.

But only a dozen heartbeats went by before he withdrew, stepping back as though he couldn’t wait to not be touching her anymore. Weakly, she pushed away from the wall and turned around.

“Thanks,” she said, feeling stupid, because were you supposed to thank the man who gave you an orgasm? Even if it was the best one you’d ever had? “I, um, need to go to the bathroom.”

He said nothing, merely nodded and stalked to the window.

“Funny,” she sighed, as she gathered her clothes off the floor, “but I always thought my first time might be more … well, not hateful.”

Stryker’s entire body tensed as he swung back around to her. “Your first time?”

Suddenly feeling exposed, she brought her clothes up to cover her nakedness, as if the flimsy things were a shield. “Yeah, I was a virgin,” she said breezily, but when his expression only darkened more, she added, “I mean, I wasn’t technically a virgin, since Phoebe has used the hell out of this body, but I’ve never had sex. You know, for myself.” Phoebe had forced Mel out a
few times while screwing, just to torture her, but she’d never initiated sex. How could she, when she didn’t know anyone, and people she did know were Itor.

Something flashed in Stryker’s eyes, but he turned away from her too quickly to see what it was. Right. So she hadn’t expected roses and chocolate or anything, and sure, he only saw Phoebe when he looked at her, but he could at least try to act like she wasn’t something he’d scraped off the bottom of his shoe.

“Okay. I’m just going to get cleaned up now.” God, she was a babbling, nervous idiot. Did all women feel that way after their first sexual encounter? Phoebe had always played sex like a contact sport, using it as a tool to get what she wanted. Mel had never wanted any part of that, had hoped to someday find someone she could form an emotional attachment with. She’d dreamed about her first time … and this had been as far from it as she could imagine.

Oh, it had been good. Damned good. But it had also highlighted the fact that nothing for Mel would ever be normal. Even if Stryker’s people could somehow help her—assuming they didn’t kill her—normal was a pipe dream, and she might as well give up on it.

She cast Stryker one last glance before slipping into the bathroom. She really should thank him again, not for the orgasm, but for fucking her right into the real world. She’d never have a relationship or a family, she’d never get a degree or hold a job, and she’d never be free.

And now that Mel knew that, Phoebe was going to pay for what she’d done to her over the years. Whatever Stryker’s people needed to bring her—and Itor—down, she would do.

Somehow, Mel would make sure Stryker got his revenge, and if it meant that she died, so be it.

“Phoebe,” she whispered to herself in the mirror, “watch out, because you don’t scare me anymore. You’re the one who should be afraid.”

* * *

S
tryker was surprised he remained standing in the wake of Mel’s innocent little announcement.

A virgin. A motherfucking virgin.

Maybe not in the technical sense—but in the sense it counted most.

If the entire thing weren’t so goddamned serious, he would’ve been laughing at the absurdity of it all. Laughing, because he now understood the expression
If I didn’t laugh, I’d cry
.

He shoved Oz’s prediction to the back of his mind as he simultaneously shoved his cock back into his pants, where it should’ve stayed.

Oz, former ACRO employee. Seer of the dead. Predictor of future events, no matter how ridiculous they seemed at the time.

“Me with a virgin? Dude, not since middle school, and even then …” Stryker downed the rest of his JD on the rocks and stared at the dark-eyed man sitting across from him at the small table
.

“I call them as I see them. You’re going to marry a virgin.”

“Well, that takes care of that, since I have no plans to marry.” There were far too many willing women and his attention span was nil. No reason to make false promises like loving one woman and only one woman for the rest of his life
.

Nope, not his bag
.

He peered out the window, praying that he didn’t see any major destruction. When he got into the sex haze, he wasn’t ever sure that his powers were under control.

So far, everything looked fine outside. But he was far from fine, and from the look in Mel’s eyes as she emerged from the bathroom, so was she.

“Did I hurt you?” he demanded, his words coming out harsher than he intended.

She shook her head, her cheeks colored, and he nodded like an idiot because what the hell else was he supposed to do?

She was supposed to be Phoebe. He was supposed to be able to kill her.

This whole ACRO agent, good-guy-versus-bad-guy used to be much easier.

“Let’s go.”

“We have to stop at my apartment before we do anything else—the shot, remember?”

“I remember. It’s the only thing stopping me from killing you right now,” he growled, and was surprised when she didn’t flinch at his words.

“Trust me, I want to kill her myself,” she told him. “Let’s go.”

Well, Mel was growing a pair right before his eyes. Interesting.

They left the hotel, and he kept her close as they walked down an alley toward a more open area—there would be less cover that way, but also less chance of the excedos attacking in public.

Of course, they had to get there first.

“Did you do that?” she asked as she looked up at the side of the building, which looked as if it had simply slid off.

He didn’t answer her, just stepped over the large crevice where the road had split in two—no doubt also his handiwork—and hustled her along. There was no time to waste here. If she wanted to stay alive, she had to remain Melanie, because if Phoebe came out … he wasn’t sure he could be responsible for what happened, no matter what he’d promised Devlin.

They made it to a bustling shopping district, and Mel slowed every time they passed a restaurant or food stand. He’d grab her hand, drag her away, and she’d be fine until the next one. Finally, at the window of a pastry shop, she refused to budge.

“I need food.”

He stared. “Are you kidding me?”

“I guess sex makes me hungry. Do you have any money?”

Un-fucking-believable. And yet, he found himself buying her a damned chocolate croissant, which she happily munched as they threaded their way through the crowds. She looked around as they walked, often became distracted by the shops to the point that he’d have to nudge her and steer her in the right direction.

“Haven’t you ever seen a store before?”

She trailed her finger along the glass front of a shoe shop, her gaze wistful. “I don’t get out on my own much. Everything is done online and delivered. Even groceries.”